


Blood & Jewels

by lightningrapunzel



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningrapunzel/pseuds/lightningrapunzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man named for the unseen. <br/>	A woman known as maiden, and the one who brings death. <br/>	They have met before, this maiden and her unseen. No one knows but them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood & Jewels

_Come to the river, come to the stream._

            His soft, mellifluous voice lures her to the water, feet pacing lightly through the wild autumn grasses to the bank, long auburn tresses swaying gently in the breeze. The boatman tips his hat to her; below the brim is displayed a chiselled, curiously cold face. Handsome, yes, but there is a strange preternatural air to it. As the girl steps towards the water, he rises to his feet, dressed in breeches and a waistcoat and shirt that have clearly seen better days. This does not escape her, but his eyes… alive, dead, alive again. Flickering in an unusual, unfamiliar cycle. As if a fire coughs, splutters, roars, dies within. 

            His hand is cool to the touch as it helps her step into his small vessel, and he seats her down upon the little bench.

            A man named for the unseen.

            A woman known as maiden, and the one who brings death.

            They have met before, this maiden and her unseen. No one knows but them.

            The boat slips silent along this river, moved by his gentle yet strong motions. No mortal will meet this stream until their red thread of life is cut.

            He tells her stories, the man, as they go. Stories that curve the rosy-pink mouth, stories that bring forth laughter, a musical sort of mirth. Sounds that he does not believe he could ever tire from.

            By his dwelling, he guides her up and out of the boat. Her feet are bare, but he lifts her up into his arms and carries her inside.

            His flesh will always be cold, his lover thinks, as he seats her by a strange green fire to warm her bones. Always.

            Cool lips press to her forehead, and her fingers touch his cheek, feeling the bone under the skin. A hesitant smile tugs at his mouth, and she understands. Smiles do not come often to those who deal with grief and the stench of endings. She is a welcome relief from his calling. Hours later – if time truly had jurisdiction here, which it does not – and any intruder might find them curled up together on a rug woven from the softness of the moon and the black of mourning. Bodies entwined in their tenderness.

            _Where are the others?_ he asks.

            She does not know. The sea is lifeless, the skies free of storms. None have been seen yet. None but she and her lover.

            The cycle is beginning, over and over again, as it always does, but she and her beloved remain outsiders. No one may intervene now.

            His hand snakes over to a bowl, plucking a fruit and breaking it in two with his hands. Bloody juice and glittering jewels cascade, and he places a few of the gems on his girl’s tongue. Six little treasures, the tang of them sweet to her tongue.

            _You remembered,_ she smiles. His eyes glow.

            _How could I forget?_ he replies, leaning over to kiss her bloody mouth, licking the juice _. My beautiful pomegranate girl._

Another smile, and he cannot resist another stolen kiss. Strange, to have such a living, fertile thing in this realm, his realm of death, but she has eaten his fare and drunk his wine. Tethered now. Coming and going as she pleases, always to return to her beloved.

            _Stay,_ he whispers. _Stay forever._

            He’ll always say it, and she’ll always smile, reply with a rueful brush of lips.

            _It cannot be,_ she breathes against his cheek. _Never can it be._

            He knows.

            The boat will deliver her back to sweet Nature a timeless age later, and she’ll give him a parting kiss, a final breath of life into his absent lungs, into his unchanging form.

            And he’ll watch her leave across the same grass bank, only to return a half-year later.

            Where he’ll greet her with a smile and a tip of his hat.


End file.
